The Shaping of Who We Are
by BlueBrainProductions
Summary: Oneshot for Signora-Cifer04. "I have chosen, in the name of liberty, to fight the enemy regardless of their allegiance. The innocent must be protected, no matter who they are." "Then we are on the same side! We are both fighting for the same reasons!" "We are not on the same side!" Historical!AmericanIndependence Valley Forge 1777 . Cross-over Hetalia/Assassins Creed III


A oneshot for Signora-Cifer04 who had the amazing idea to combine my two favorite things! Why did I not think of this before? Seriously!

Prepare for drama and probably some angst.

**Rated: T **(Because I'm paranoid for some reason)

Disclaimer: _Assassin's Creed III_ to Ubisoft and _Hetalia: Axis Powers_ to Hidekaz Himaruy

**Updated 11/28/2012 to fix game story-line errors and other things.**

* * *

The forest was silent. The assassin could hear almost nothing except for the movement of his clothes and soft breaths. Nothing moved around him. It was as if time itself had stopped, leaving only him to see the world's beauty and pain. A few birds flew overhead going from tree to tree. They gossiped quietly amongst each other as if the topic of their conversations was nearby. Connor briefly thought that he hoped the winter birds were not speaking badly of him. The thought made him chuckle and then he moved on through the trees.

The time, he estimated, was close to morning. He could see that the clouds above were getting lighter in color. It would be day soon and he should arrive at the camp sometime before then. Connor also judged that the snow storm would not be stopping any time soon. It was not the worst storm of the season. The half Indian would go as far as to say it was almost calming. There was no wind to bring down the temperature any more than it already was. Humongous flakes of snow fell gracefully from the clouds, coating everything it could in layers. Three feet had already built up since the day before and Connor figured it would continue to do so at least until the next night.

As he trudged through the snow drifts, he gazed longingly up at the tree tops. Oh how he wished he could climb the nearest trunk and travel in comfort. It would make his journey so much quicker. Unfortunately, the pile of animal furs attached to his back reminded him that he would most likely cause the first branch he stepped on to break. The assassin did not want to think about falling to his death. He had enough to worry about.

"You there! Halt!"

Well, so much for a stealthy approach.

Two colonial soldiers were coming towards him quickly, stumbling through the snow like newborn deer. Connor did not move at all. It would be very difficult to outrun bullets with the weight of another person on one's back. The soldiers were out of breath by the time they reached him.

"What is your business in the valley?" This soldier was older with grey speckled hair and deep wrinkles around his wise eyes.

"I heard there was a camp here," Connor answered quickly. "I have skins to trade with."

What he said was completely true. Three days before, he had stopped at a small town. All of the residents were colonials. On the night that he stayed in the inn the townspeople regaled him with stories of ambushing passing British troops from the forest. One young boy, maybe fourteen, was proud to announce that he had killed his twentieth British soldier that very day. Everyone cheered except for Connor, who buried his nose in his pint of beer.

None of the townspeople wanted to trade with him. They said they could provide everything for themselves easily enough, but a Continental Army camp to the west would definitely need the skins. General Washington's troops had recently fought a battle in White Marsh, Pennsylvania. The American's won, but had suffered many casualties as a result. They settled in Valley Forge not long after the battle for the winter season. Connor left early the next day.

The other soldier, a young boy around sixteen years of age, stared at Connor with blatant distrust. He leaned towards his brother in arms and whispered, "What if he's a Lobster?"

Rolling his eyes, the older male pushed the younger away. "He's not. Can't you see the man is from the mountains?"

"How could you-."

"Boy, you need to pay attention more. One of these days you'll shoot an innocent man. Look at what he's carrying: a variety of animal skins, a hatchet, a bow and quiver of arrows-"

"But what about the gun?"

"American made." Connor interjected.

"Yes," the older soldier confirmed. "And he also has darker skin. So I am assuming he has Indian ancestors. What kind of an Indian would want to deal with the British?"

Connor nodded in reply. The boy huffed in annoyance and wisely decided to say nothing more. The older man returned his gaze to Connor.

"You may find it hard to trade for something worthwhile here, sir. We have nothing, but the clothes on our backs and our weapons. I wish you luck though and stay away from the hospital tents. Diseases are running rampant through there."

"Thank you."

As Connor moved on in the direction of the camp, he smiled when he heard the older soldier lecturing the younger.

[-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-]

The camp smelled of disease and death. Every soldier looked like the living dead, with skinny and frail bodies and no emotion. Many stared unfocused out into the air with solemn faces. Connor learned quickly that they were starving. They were barely surviving on firecakes. Each man he questioned only asked if he had food to trade. When he replied that he had none, the hopeful glint in the soldiers' faces disappeared instantly and the emptiness returned.

Clothes and shoes were in various states of death also. The uniforms were not made for winter that was obvious. Some had large holes and tears while others were in complete tatters. Shoes were no better. Most were held together with strips of cloth wrapped around like a rope. The assassin passed by a man having his black toes inspected by a friend. The man was muttering that he could not feel anything in his feet. Many soldiers did not have any shoes at all. They used the same cloth to wrap their bare feet for some protection.

The snow on the ground was stained red and the men had lost hope.

Connor walked through most of the camp, but found no one to trade with. By the time he ended up near the makeshift hospital, he did not have the heart to ask another man. The suffering around him was too great, even for someone like him. A surgeon emerged from the hospital tent. His arms and clothes were stained with blood. Connor watched the man wash off his arms with water that was set in a pot over a fire pit. The man must have sensed the staring because he dried off his arms with a stained cloth and met Connor's gaze.

"Do you need help, sir?" the surgeon questioned.

"Here." Connor took the roll of skins off of his back and handed them to the surgeon. "Give these to men who really need it."

The assassin walked away before the surgeon could even begin to respond. He wanted to leave the camp as quickly as possible. The hopelessness was almost overwhelming.

"Sir? Sir!"

Someone grabbed Connor by the arm to get his attention. The half Indian sighed and turned to see a young man in a tricorne hat.

"Yes?"

"Sir, I have a friend who would like to meet you. He-"

Connor shook his head. "Tell your friend that I am sorry to decline his offer. I have business to attend to."

"My friend is a very important person in this army. He wants to speak to you about the war."

_General Washington?_ The name lit up like a lantern in his mind's eye. Connor sighed again, but nodded this time. He figured having one army after your head was enough to deal with. Two would be insanity. The assassin kept his gaze only on the back of the soldier as he was led through the camp once again.

Confusion swept over him when he realized they were not going to the house where the General was staying. Some of the men he spoke with were jealous of their superiors for getting better housing. Right now, he and the soldier were standing outside of a measly tent. Were the men wrong?

"Mr. America? I found him."

Who the hell would name himself after the colony? _Mr. America _must be a code word. Connor fingered the trigger to his hidden blade nervously. If it was a trap of some sort, then he would have to fight his way out; stealthiness be damned.

"Let him in, William."

The soldier, now known as William, opened the flap to the tent and gestured for Connor to enter. He stepped forward with caution. The only light inside the tent came from a dim lantern hanging from the frame. It must have been almost out of oil since the flame was so small. A bed, made of a pile of hay and a blanket, took up the right side of the tent. On the left was a man sitting on a tree stump.

Connor felt his stomach drop. _Mr. America_ looked worse than any man he had ever seen. His hair, probably once blonde like the sun, was a dull brownish blonde color. He was sickly skinny like the other soldiers and had ashen colored skin. His dirty uniform hung off his frame like a tattered flag. What bothered Connor the most was the young man's eyes. They were sunken into to his head and the skin around them was dark. It looked as though this man had been through every horrible event since the beginning of time.

The man stood up weakly, swaying slightly with the effort. He held out his hand to Connor and the men shook hands. "My name is Alfred Jones."

"Connor Kenway."

"Nice to meet you, Connor. I'm sorry that I don't have an extra seat for you. You can have mine."

"No. I will stand if that is fine with you."

Alfred waved his hand in response and also remained standing. The men were silent for a moment, just sizing the other up. Suddenly, Alfred's eyes rolled back into his head and he swayed to his right. Connor shot forward, grabbing the frail man by the arm before he completely fell over. He helped Alfred sit on the stump again. The American hung his head between his legs with his eyes closed. His breathing was very heavy and ragged.

"Mr. Jones?" Connor questioned. "Do you want me to get a doctor?"

A small laugh came from the sick man. He looked up at the assassin and shook his head. "No, thank you. I have been this sick for months. It's nothing new."

When he was sure the soldier would not keel over, Connor straightened so he was standing again. This man was a simple soldier. He was not the person William described. Frustration was now growing in his chest. This was becoming a waste of time very quickly.

"Mr. Jones." Alfred looked up at him. "Your friend said you wished to speak with me. Why?"

"I've seen you in many places over the past few years. Lexington, Boston… Montreal. Whenever there is a battle, you are there fighting also, but not for us. I watched you kill a British and American officer once."

Connor's trigger finger twitched again. So this was a trap. Men were probably surrounding the tent now to arrest him.

"You killed no other man except for them. Why?"

Silence filled the tent.

"Who are you?" Connor finally spoke. He was glad the darkness of his hood hid his face.

"Alfred F. Jones. I am also known as America; former colony and brother of the British Empire."

Connor blinked and blinked again. Memories flooded his mind of his mother telling the story of the boy with sun colored hair and sky blue eyes that roamed the land. The boy, who called himself America, befriended all animals and humans. The Indians welcomed the boy whenever he would visit their villages. Every time he visited he was never any older. Connor's ancestors called him the Sun Child.

"You're the Sun Child," he could only mutter in shock. "You've grown."

Alfred gave a small, nostalgic smile. "I've grown because my country has grown. I'm barely a teenager in an immortal's eyes. I haven't heard that name in a very long time either. You must be a child of the Great Spirit to know it."

The half Indian let out the breath he was holding. He sat on the ground, never letting his eyes leave the other's. "My mother was a Mohawk and my father an Englishman. Every night, before I went to bed, my mother would tell me the story of the Sun Child. She always said you were one of the twins that the Sky Woman's daughter gave birth to when the Earth was created. You and your twin brought balance. Sun and Moon."(1)

"I don't know where I came from. I just woke up in a field one day… Your mother could be right though, but then again look at where we are now. I am doing a shitty job bringing balance to this land. Many of my people and England's are dying right now. I started something blindly and now everything is chaos."

"Then why did you start it?"

"To gain not only freedom, but also equality." Alfred ran his fingers through his thin hair. "The King and his Parliament has made us his personal bank. When they go off to war, expanding their borders, they drain the colonies of as much money as possible to fund it. Have you heard of the Sugar Act or the Stamp Act? My people can hardly live like that. And they refuse us representation in Parliament. I want what's best for my people and gaining their freedom is the only way. I also… I also want to be an equal to my brother."

Another silence fell over them. It was not uncomfortable or anger filled or even sorrowful. It was just silence.

"You wanted to know why I killed both of those men on the battlefield, despite of their allegiances?"

The former colony nodded slowly.

Connor threw back his hood, finally exposing his full face to the Sun Child. "Fifteen years ago, British colonists attacked my tribe. They burnt my village to the ground, killing many including my mother."

"I'm sorry."

"It is hard for me to know who to blame because of who I am and who my parents are. On this land, I am torn. Part of me wants to fight and repel all outsiders. The other part of me _is_ the outsider. So I have chosen, in the name of liberty, to fight the enemy regardless of their allegiance. The innocent must be protected, no matter who they are."(2)

"Then we are on the same side! We are both fighting for the same reasons! There is no reason for you to kill Americans."

Connor slammed his fist on the cold ground. His eyes were blazing with anger. "We are _not _on the same side!" He growled. "You may be fighting for the freedom and protection of your people, but what about _my_ people? _Your _colonists are pushing my people off of our lands, claiming them as their own. I have heard that many Chiefs have tried to speak with your 'newborn government', but no one is paying them any attention. Does that sound familiar?"

The other male breathed in deeply through his nose as he broke eye contact to stare at his hands. A deep frown had settled over his features and Connor was glad to have been the cause of it. This immortal was nothing more than a naïve and immature child.

"We are in the middle of a revolution right now. People do not act rationally in times of panic."

"Don't you dare give me any excuses. This has been occurring far longer than your petty feud with your brother."

"Get out."

There was a level of finality to those two words that had Connor getting to his feet quickly. It was not that he was afraid of some underlying threat. No, he was just as done with the conversation as Alfred was. He grabbed the entrance flap and was just about to leave when something stopped him. Something in the back of his mind told him to not just leave the conversation at that. The assassin looked over his shoulder at Alfred, who was glaring back.

"A man once told me that while men of courage write history of this day, the future of our land depends on those who are truly free."(2)

The glare faltered and eventually fell away until only a serious face looked at him.

"And who are those that are truly free?" Alfred asked quietly, as if afraid of what the answer might be.

"The man died still searching for that answer. I believe no one will ever be able find it."

That answer was obviously not what Alfred wanted to hear. His head lowered until it looked as though he was praying.

"Nothing is true. Everything is permitted."

Alfred brought his empty eyes back up. "What?" He murmured. "What does that mean?"

Moving away the flap, Connor watched as silent snowflakes drifted into the tent. The frozen rain brought with it a reminder of reality. It was as if the sorrow emanating from the camp was pouring into the tent like a waterfall.

"You will have to figure that out on your own." Connor stepped out into the cold, turning back to stare at the other man. "It is interpreted differently by those who hear it. However, you will never know the true meaning until you open your eyes and heart. Once you understand the true meaning, the possibilities of what you can do to help this world is endless. I only hope you figure it out soon."

"Who are you?"

The assassin turned up his hood with one hand, using the other to keep the tent open. "We work in the dark to serve the light. We are assassins. Nothing is true, everything is permitted."

Darkness overtook both men again as soon as the flap closed. One would eventually find his way back to the light. He would understand the meaning of those six words and gain the freedom that he set out to obtain. The other would continue to walk through the snow stained with the blood of his past, his present and his future.

[-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-][-]

_Nothing is true. Everything is permitted._

_The meaning of this phrase is difficult to understand. It is wrong to take on the beliefs of another man and letting it shape who you are. Nothing is true. Let your own interpretation shape who you are as a person and do not fear the change that comes with it. The ways in which you use your understanding is endless. Everything is permitted._

* * *

__(1) This is a Mohawk creation story. I did, however, make up the horribly cliche Sun Child name.

(2) This is a quote taken from the Wiki page. I twisted it to make it fit.

Original: _"On this land, I am torn. Part of me wants to fight and repel all outsiders. The other part of me **is **the outsider. In the name of liberty, I will fight the enemy regardless of their allegiance. While men of courage write history of this day, the future of our land depends on those who are truly free."_

I hope all of you liked it, especially Signora-Cifer04. I personally am very proud of this one. Until next time!


End file.
